Page 110 of Savage Saint

“She let you wet your dick where sixty percent of the club has nutted. Nothing special, because women like her don’t do relationships. She used you, you fucking idiot.”

“Won’t deny she’s good in bed, but that’s not why I gave her the insignificant information. She promised I could be the one to help bring her back. That I’d be a hero for the club, and you’d respect me.” His breathing speeds up. Anxiety kicking in. “Kaos picked me up before I could help. He ruined everything.”

From behind me, I hear my brother snort and call him the palomo of the century.

He’s not wrong.

This shot I aim directly at his dick. His scream almost hurts my ears, shrill and annoying as blood pours from between his legs, and he tries to fold into himself, as much as the restraints allow.

“You wanted to feel like a man.” I holster the gun. “Then die remembering what you traded for it.”

He’s left to bleed out, while the attention turns to the club’s biggest cuero. She wanted attention; now she has everyone’s, and if I go by the way her body starts to shake, I’m guessing it’s not all it’s cracked up to be.

She lets out a sob before I ask a single question. “Please, Santos. I love you.”

Disgust twists through me. Sharp and immediate.

“Don’t you ever say my name again.”

“I always have.”

“No. You haven’t.”

“We can work this out.”

“Stop lying to yourself, Janelle. You want what you thought came with me.” She’s shaking her head, pleading between sobs. “It’s always been about power and status. A place above everyone else, and you thought with Genesis out of the way, I’d finally pick you.” Mascara tracks run down her cheeks as the tears flow. “Foolishly, you thought yourself above my mother and sister. That they’d finally answer to you.’

Her face changes then. Finally, a real emotion.

Hate. Unadulterated hate.

“You played a stupid game. Won a stupid prize.”

“Santos, you don’t mean that.”

“A family survives because of loyalty,” I tell her. “So does this club. You betrayed both.”

“Give me another chance. I’ll⁠—”

“This is your final confession. Use it wisely now, Janelle.”

At those words, something inside her snaps. Maybe she realizes the begging won't work, or she simply stops caring, but Janelle laughs like this is the funniest thing in the world to her.

“Yes, I wanted it all. The money, the respect…you. I wanted every man in the club to covet me. For the women to be jealous of me. I should’ve been the first lady, Saint.” Her mouth curls bitterly. “But then your little nurse arrived out of nowhere, and suddenly, nobody else existed.”

“You're correct, but you forgot one thing.”

“What?”

“I've never wanted you. Never touched you, no matter how many times you offered to be my whore.”

That wipes the smile off her face. For a second, but then it comes back. Meaner. “Doesn’t matter anymore, Saint. Kirill more than likely already wrecked her.”

I cross the space between us and wrap my hand around her throat. Lift her high enough that her feet barely touch the ground within the restraints. “Watch your next words.”

Janelle chokes out another laugh. “They’ve planned something special for her. You should’ve agreed to the deal Ismael presented and not let ego get in the way. Now, the woman you love will pay for your sins.” She’s goading me, but I smile down at her. Let her spew her hate. “They’re going to film it, too. Kirill gets to break a whore, Emilio gets his revenge, and afterward, they’ll kill her on camera. You’ll be getting the first video copy by mail.”

Everything inside me goes cold. “Maria, step forward.”